Текст песни Canibus - Live Ll Diss In Uk Freestyle

I heard there’s a rumor going around that I got dropped
200,000 albums sold at 10 dollars a pop
300,000 albums was shipped
You do the math
That’s three million in three months, They can kiss my ass
All these magazine that tried to stream roll me to death
But guess what, the GOAT ain’t platinum and neither is Clef
And I’m still here
Despite all that shit them niggas said
The skinny kid, The music industry’s guinea pig
Tighter than ever, The world’s chief mic wrecker
Tougher than Reverend Run’s muthafuckin leather
Yo, I’m hardcore
Cumshot right in his wife’s face
He’s soft porn
He held hands on the first date
When he was making records like "I Need Love"
His homie Cornell was givin it to him up the butt
Plus I heard Simone was a high school slut
And she learned how to fuck before she knew how to cuss
He married that cunt and had kids with her, He’s in big trouble
Him and his man Russell make a better couple
He’s probably made as fuck wondering where I got my information from
He’s being watched even when he takes a dump
It’s impossible to front, You can’t hide
The chairs at ya label got ears and the walls got eyes
You livin one big lie, The world just don’t know
You take a polygraph test that shit’ll probably explode
The truth is Mr. Smith got a fucked up attitude
And God knows that I pity his fans for backin you
Yo, this be the, this be the realest shit I ever wrote
You should change ya muthafuckin name from G.O.A.T. to G.L.O.A.T.
You know why? You know why?
Stands for the greatest liar of all time
The greatest liar of all time
That "Cannot rhyme and cannot shine as long as I’m alive"
His prime ended eight months before ’99
And that microphone on his arm’ll always be mine
Yo, I told you to leave it alone but you was too stubborn
Now you in a world where the hunter becomes the hunted
His wife is scared cause she don’t wanna lose her husband
And somebody keeps pagin him puttin "4,3,2,1" in
He can’t sleep at night thinkin about the drama
Shit stains all up in his Phat Farm pajamas
He’s havin nightmares of being in the ring with a more talented boxer
Shatter his bones like Andrew Golota
Yo, Mama said know who out?
Punch that bitch in the mouth cause she don’t know what she talkin about
Yo Mr. Smith, Do me a favor when you see ya ghost writers
Tell them that shit they wrote for you could have been a lot tighter
Yo, you shoulda asked me I’ll write you some rhymes
I’ll do anything for the greatest loser of all time
Yo, cause he’s still drippin with wack juice cause he’s a wack nigga
And if he wants the last word he can have it I’m still iller!